


Relapse

by ariiadne



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium Addiction, Pre-Trespasser, Random & Short, Romance, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-06 01:51:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8729974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariiadne/pseuds/ariiadne
Summary: This is one of the few scenarios I believe would make Cullen willfully relapse. Post endgame, pre-Trespasser.





	

The lyrium song no longer played in his mind, but at this moment, he found himself trying to recall the tune.

Perhaps it was a way of preparing himself for what he already intended to do. He did not crave the vial’s contents – hadn’t for some time.  He had done what many considered impossible for a Templar. Honestly, he did not know if his struggles were still truly over. But withdrawal symptoms had faded. Cravings, too. He still had nightmares, but that was never the lyrium’s doing.

An agonizing shriek pierced through the air of the infirmary. Somewhere beyond those thick stone walls, someone very dear to him writhed and contorted in ways he’d never thought possible; body twisted by sheer immense pain. Ancient magic carved up her arm from her palm almost quite literally. Last he’d seen, the jagged tendrils reached to her shoulder. It was spreading. They’d known that for some time. But only recently had the process seemed to hasten exponentially.

He told himself if he heard her scream like that one more time, he would do it. His thumb teased the cork, ready to pop it at a moment’s notice. There was relative quiet for a few long seconds before her broken cry cut him down to the very bone.

The chair clattered to the floor as he violently rose to his feet. In what looked like a single, fluid movement, Cullen threw back the lyrium, wiped his mouth with his sleeve – streaks of luminescent blue left behind –, and burst through the door into the adjacent room.

Every step towards her bedside passed with an otherworldly slowness. Bodies pin down her flailing limbs. The sheet lays in a twisted mound at the foot of the bed. Sweat and splashes of all the poultices the healers tried to give her with little success stain her gown. A mage clenches his eyes shut against the grating cries, attempting to dispel any magic the cursed mark on her hand generated as his own hover above it.

It is a sad and pitiful thing, her hand: gnarled and trembling. The green is unsettling. It is unnatural. It is sick.

The commander pushed the resident healer out of the way a bit harder than he intended. Whereas the mage had been afraid to touch it – out of fear for himself and fear of hurting her further – Cullen took her hand and crouched at her side. As soon as his knee touched tile, a pure, ethereal power detonated, growing and encircling them until its waves phased out of sight. Soft specks of light floated and tumbled in the air around them. The others attending took a startled step back.

She let out an ear-splitting screech. It seemed the healer’s assumption rang true. Despite this, Cullen’s grip tightened until it stopped the shaking. Power poured steadily from him. But it wasn’t enough. She continued to thrash and yell. Reaching deeper within, Cullen summoned more, and it pulsed forth.

Still, no change.

Sweat beaded on his brow. A vein protruded between his eyes as his face reddened from the exertion.

Nothing.

He had to stop to breathe. Hands gripped his shoulders, urged him to stop, but her broken sobbing was all he could hear.

He lowered his head reverently. The power surged into existence yet again with a constant, monotonous hum. It looked as if he was praying.  Jaw clenching, forehead furrowing, Cullen drew from anything he could. A stream of red crept languidly from his nose.

Then, a boom. Those still near were blown back, stumbling to keep their footing. When the dust settled, his head rested at her side, hand still in hers. All fell silent, save her heavy breathing. And she lay still, granted some shred of relief.


End file.
